Two Angels Meet in a Cemetery
by ResidentGoth
Summary: Title says it all. One shot. Please review after reading, it is greatly appreciated.


**Erik the Phantom and Erik the Crow! These are just two of my favorite things! Corny, I know, but whatever. Had this idea today and thought I'd throw it out there for all o' y'all to enjoy. R&R please please pretty please. With spiders and cobwebs on top? :D Haha enjoy. **

The sun had only just set upon the last day of October. Erik sat on the rooftop of the Opera House, watching stoically as shoppers hurried along with their packages, taxis plowed through the bitter wind. He stared out at the sky, the deep purple of twilight just setting in. Something within him stirred, as if begging to be set free. Moments later, he exited the theater from the back entrance, his hood pulled up against prying eyes and the cold.

The night was still, silent even. Paris seemed to have rolled up its sidewalks at six o'clock sharp.

A rustle of feathers, followed by a flurry of movement. Erik froze in his tracks, pressing himself against the wall of a nearby alley. He melted into the night like a shadow in a dark room. Suddenly a very large black bird –a crow, by the looks of it—soared past him, trailed closely by a man in all black like himself. Their choice of clothing color was the only thing the two men seemed to share, though. The other man's face was painted as white as snow, and his lips and eyelids were starkly black against his skin. The lines of a smile radiated from the corners of his lips, antithetical compared to the rage and bloodlust that his body language betrayed. A curving scar trailed out below his left eye, crossing the bridge of his nose and almost touching his right eye.

Erik slipped away quietly, only half listening to what the other man was saying, apparently to a third person in the alley.

"_A year ago… a cold October night… a man, a girl… madness... and the shadows… My god the shadows!" _

"_..You?"_

"_Don't look, don't look!" _

Erik walked on, not really knowing what he was doing or where he was going. The man's words echoed in his head, a haunting chorus that dredged up memories of Erik's own, things he knew he would never forget.

Lying on the ground, Raoul de Chagny standing over him prepared to kill him without mercy. The only thing that saved Erik that fateful night was Christine. At the thought of her, Erik's insides twisted into a mass of knots and he grimaced. Christine never left him, never left his thoughts. His dreams were haunted by her face, her voice… that melodic, sweet voice she had… He felt the beginnings of tears well up, and pushed them back resolutely. The Phantom of the Opera did not cry without knowing for a stone-cold fact that he was completely alone.

Overhead, a crow cawed and flapped past, its shrill cry breaking the frigid silence.

Erik wondered if it was the same crow as before.

Thoughts of Christine returned. He welcomed them. Misery was an old friend, the only one he'd kept throughout his life.

The cemetery looked strangely different without being blanketed in snow. It seemed… malevolent, somehow, less a place of purity as opposed to a place, simply put, of death. The stone angels watched him impassively, their hollow, blank eyes seeming to pass down a judgment upon him. He walked past them, not looking at them, as if running a gauntlet. He put his hood down. No one else would be here. The threat was minimal.

Gustave Daae's tomb loomed like a cathedral of menace, the piece de resistance of the whole blasted lot. Erik glared at it. He knew not why he had ventured the cemetery, only that the rest of his body had followed where his feet had led him.

"You lost someone too?"

Erik tensed and whirled around, prepared to defend himself against this intruder.

To his shock and surprise, it was the man from earlier that evening. The white paint had mostly melted off his face, adding more contrast to the black remaining. His eyebrows rose at the sight of the mask, but lowered and were replaced by a warm smile. "Whoever it was, I'm fairly sure it wasn't Gustave Daae."

Erik stared stonily ahead. The large black crow circled overhead and settled on a tombstone.

"No." He said finally. "It wasn't."

"I'm sorry for your loss." The other man said quietly. "I can understand the pain you're in."

_Can you really? _Erik thought.

As if able to read his mind, the man laughs bitterly. "Death is a funny thing sometimes, you know? It comes and goes in the most unexpected of ways…"

"She's not dead." Erik said woodenly. He had seen articles in the evening papers raving about the beauty and extravagance of the de Chagny wedding. Erik had tossed them into the lake and let them disintegrate. "It would be easier to deal with if she was."

The other man nodded. "You say that, but… We angels fight for the things dearest to us." His eyes met Erik's, and in them there was unbreakable conviction. "If she is truly meant for you, you will know it. If she is, Fate will bring you back to her."

Erik stared ahead. The mere thought was intoxicating. Christine, his, in his arms, his song, his home, again.

"Who are you?" Erik finally asked.

The other man shrugged. "I dunno. An avenging angel, I guess. Beyond that I'm just a man. My name's Eric, by the way. Eric Draven."

Eric Draven held out his hand. Erik shook it once and released it. "A pleasure to meet you, Eric Draven."

Cold droplets of rain began to pitter patter against the stone monuments, threatening to become a downpour.

Eric Draven strolled into the darkness, pausing to turn to Erik and say:

"It can't rain all the time."

No, Erik decided. It can't.

**Hope y'all liked it! Review or I'll send BOTH Eriks after you! Although I am aware that for some that'd be more a reward than a punishment. Oh well. You know the drill. Review . And if you haven't already, check out my other Phantom phiction: **_**The Hardest Part is Knowing What to Call It.**_** Not for Christine fans but then again, who is? :D**


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